


every perfect summer's eating me alive

by screaminghalfpastmidnight



Category: The Society (TV 2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Ex Best Friends, F/M, Fluff and Angst, i name too many fics after songs, they grow back together :'), this has been sitting in my docs since the show first came out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 06:07:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24240013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/screaminghalfpastmidnight/pseuds/screaminghalfpastmidnight
Summary: She’s sitting in the family waiting room in one of those chairs that sucks the life right out of you when a blanket is draped over her shoulders. Harry stands in front of her, frown creasing his features as if it’s stuck there. He sinks down beside her, sighing heavily. “Just for now, let’s pretend these last three years never happened.” If she wasn’t all cried out, she’d start again. Instead, she leans in closer as he wraps his arm around her shoulders, nuzzling into him.(Later, this will scare the shit out of her. For now, it’s exactly what she needs because it’s warm and familiar and she’s never felt safer than when she’s in his arms because she knows he won’t let the world get to her.)ORHarry and Allie were childhood friends who fell apart and now grow back together :)
Relationships: Harry Bingham/Allie Pressman
Comments: 14
Kudos: 86





	every perfect summer's eating me alive

**Author's Note:**

> title from "Liability" by Lorde
> 
> i've written for the society since literally the first week it came out but i've never posted anything but now im bored in quarantine so some hallie fics might be poppin up on my page oops

There was a time, many years ago, that Allie Pressman and Harry Bingham had been friends.

Best friends, in fact. There were many nights where Allie would climb through his window when his parents were fighting or nights when Harry would hold her hand in silence as they sat together on the swings, waiting for news about Cassandra. They’d hated each other even then, but they got a kick out of it, and neither took it too far for Allie’s sake.

Harry would come over on the weekends and have dinner with the Pressmans and they’d sneak off to the park during the week, laying in the grass and gazing at the stars. Harry had always loved the stars.

They were best friends until Harry was in the eighth grade, Allie in seventh. It was their last year together before inevitably, things would change. Harry had promised her that they wouldn’t, that he’d still come over every chance he got and he’d still sit through whatever shitty movie she wanted to watch as long as she still kicked the ball around with him in his backyard. Allie knew better, though. High school was an entirely different world and she’d half-expected her best friend to go off and forget about her, too caught up in the haze. She knew Harry better than anyone and he was the type of person that people just gravitated towards; she knew high schoolers would worship him.

Still, she didn’t exactly give him the chance to prove himself. They’d had a big blowout at the end of summer. She was just so  _ scared _ . Harry was her lifeline. What was she supposed to do the next time Cassandra got admitted to the hospital or the next time she failed a test she tried so hard for? Who was going to push her on the swings or make her parents forget they were ever angry with her?

Up until that labour day weekend, they’d never yelled at each other before. Allie had been angry with him before, of course, but it was normally when he’d accidentally push her too hard or say something insensitive, though he’d never intentionally hurt her. He had that night. He spit fire at her, absolute fury that she matched right back. If it wasn’t clear before, it definitely was then. They never would’ve worked. Harry was tired of her already.

Her final year of elementary school was spent branching out. She spent more time with Sam than she had in a while and found herself angry she hadn’t thought of that before. Not only was Sam cool, but he was her cousin; he  _ had _ to be friends with her. He couldn’t leave her alone like a certain brunette had. He had his own best friend called Becca, who Allie grew close to quickly. By the time the year was over, Allie was more terrified of change than she had been in the beginning.

On the first day of ninth grade, she strolled in with her head held high, Sam and Becca at her side. Cassandra helped her with her lock and showed her to her classrooms beforehand so that she wouldn’t get lost. She didn’t see Harry once that day.

On the second day of ninth grade, she met Will. He was new to West Ham, living with a new foster dad (who Allie quickly decided she didn’t like) and he listened to her. He watched movies with her when she asked and he stayed at her place more often than not. Plus, Cassandra actually  _ liked _ Will.

On the fourteenth day of ninth grade, she looked Harry Bingham straight in the eye and he looked away as if he’d never even known her.

(On the sixteenth day, he was making out with Kelly Aldrich against his locker and Allie definitely did  _ not _ go home and put everything of his she had left in the very back of her closet, locked away in a box to never see the light of day again.)

The years went by and Allie’s circle of friends became solidified. Becca, Sam, Cassandra, Will and Gordie. Gordie was in Cassandra’s year but Allie was quite certain he was the coolest person she’d ever met and he never treated any of the younger years like they were below him, so he got a pass in her book. 

For three years, she spoke  _ maybe _ three words to Harry Bingham. ( _ Fuck. You. Asshole _ .)

In September of her junior year, Cassandra got bad again. She’d had surgery when Allie was a kid (Harry had shown up at the hospital with a blanket and his DS and they’d played all night, his nanny sitting a few chairs down, dozing) and she had to be on medication but she was  _ fine _ . Until she wasn’t.

She got sick. Really sick. Like throwing-up-so-much-she’s-losing-weight sick. After years of understanding her sister would probably die young, Allie had learned to avoid it. Bottle it up. Don’t ask questions. Pretend everything is as it’s always been. Her friends don’t employ the same strategy. 

They’re giving her sympathetic looks and asking her questions and not letting her be alone and it’s driving her  _ fucking _ insane to the point where sometimes she feels like she’s literally suffocating even though she can breathe just fine. 

Not only that, but she’s losing Will.

She’s always had a teeny little crush on him (one that she’s not sure she’d ever actually act on; been there done that - see  _ Harry Bingham _ ) but it’s never got in the way of their friendship and it’s never gotten to the point where it’s hurt her before. But somehow, maybe because of the best friend intuition, he figured it out and he’s started lying to her about where he is and what he’s doing because he’s hanging out with Kelly  _ fucking _ Aldrich and Allie wishes more than anything that she could hate that girl.

(She can’t. Kelly has been nothing but an angel to her and Allie can’t justify even  _ thinking _ something bad about her.)

So, her sister may be dying a lot earlier than expected and Will is not acting like the best friend he’s supposed to be and Allie can’t speak two words to her parents without wanting to vomit from guilt.

(It should be her. She’s always been the problem child, not Cassandra. Her parents are going to be stuck with her and once Allie leaves for college she’s not sure she’ll ever come back, for their sake.)

So, she gets drunk.

Wasted, actually. She’s never been the type of girl to go to parties and definitely not parties at a jock’s house she’s never spoken to before but she needs to forget that her world is ending for even just one night. 

Becca’s there, taking photos as usual but she doesn’t come over to her, only sends a small wave before continuing on. Allie makes her way over to the drinks table and downs more than her fair share of shots before settling on a beer, roaming her way throughout the party. There’s a lot of people she’s seen around school before, but no one she really talks to; she’d spoken to Helena more than any of them when they were paired for a project in tenth grade, but the whole  _ Catholic _ thing freaks Allie out. Why would God choose to kill her sister?

She spots Will in the corner of the room, chatting up Kelly, just as Allie would’ve expected. He frowns when he notices her and she can see the anger rising in his features, which only pisses her off. The last thing she needs is a lecture. She can picture what he’s going to say to her, too;  _ this isn’t you, Allie _ . Maybe it was. Maybe she had no fucking clue what was like her because she’d been too caught up in making sure she’d remember her sister once she died. 

She bolts upstairs, trying every locked door until finally, one opens. She closes it behind her, dropping down onto the bed, beer on the floor beside her feet, head in her hands. This is it, she thinks. Her breakdown. Maybe once she lets it out now she’ll be able to look Cassandra in the eye when she gets home. She rubs at her eyes, probably smudging her mascara in the process and roughly wipes her tears away. What the actual  _ fuck _ is her life?

She’s relatively calmed down when the door swings open, Allie only now realizing that she didn’t even bother to turn the light on when she came in here. She removes her face from her hands and looks up, eyes landing on the brunette boy who’d held her all night the last time the world felt like this.

“Shit, sorry.” He says. He sounds exactly the same.

Allie shakes her head, picking her beer up off the ground and standing up shakily. “Don’t be. It’s all yours.”

He frowns, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. “Are you drunk?”

“Yeah.” She says flatly, scoffing when she sees the almost disappointed look on his face. “What’s with the judgment, Bingham? Aren’t you an alcoholic?”   
  


It’s a low blow and she doesn’t even mean to say it, especially not as harshly as she did. She should apologize, but she doesn’t. A flash of anger crosses his face and she watches as he pushes it down, replacing it with just a slightly annoyed expression, slightly tired. “Come on, Pressman. I’ll drive you home.”   
  


“No.” She shakes her head a little too sloppily. “Not going home.”

It’s his turn to scoff now. “Well, what are you gonna do? Walk around aimlessly in the middle of the night?”

She snaps and doesn’t even feel guilty about it this time. “I hadn’t gotten that far yet.”

She takes a step forward, stumbling a little despite how hard she tries not to and he sighs heavily, reaching out to steady her. “Okay, just sit down.”

He leads her towards the bed, sitting her on the edge before taking his place beside her, not even stopping her as she brings the beer up to her lips. They’re silent for a few moments before he speaks up. “You don’t normally drink.”

“You don’t normally talk to me.”

His tone gets angrier. “Why do you keep doing that?” She squints at him. “Acting like  _ I’m _ the problem?”

Her gaze softens, turning her head to look straight ahead. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to. I’m just sad and drunk and I hate everything.”

Harry sighs heavily, nodding in understanding. “Wanna talk about it?”

“I’d rather die, actually.” The comment makes him smile to himself. She’s always been overdramatic.

He sighs once more, standing up and reaching his hand out to her. “Look, you said you don’t want to go home, so why don’t you just stay at my place tonight and then I’ll take you home tomorrow. Better me than some stranger.”

She stares at him for a moment, contemplating her options. She can’t go home. She can’t hide out somewhere with Will until she’s ready to face the music. She can’t crash at Becca’s because she’d just get those same concerned looks and then she’d feel cornered into talking.

She takes his hand, but he doesn’t make any moves to pull her up. “Leave the beer.”

She sends him a half-assed glare and puts her drink back on the floor, letting him pull her up. She’s not too drunk to know that leaving with Harry tonight will raise questions from almost everyone in their grade and while she’d rather they stay the fuck out of it, high school doesn’t work like that. But she also knows that this is her best option, so she keeps her mouth shut, eyes down as she lets Harry lead her by the hand to the front door. He’s just opening it when a hand tugs at her wrist and she turns around to find Will, stuck between frowning at her and glaring at Harry.

“What’s going on here?”

Allie might actually throw up. Harry answers for her. “None of your business.”

“It is, actually. You’re taking advantage of my best friend.”  _ Now _ he’s her best friend. Good to know. She pulls away, trying to leave with Harry again and Will tugs her back. “I’m not letting you take her anywhere, Harry.”

The conversation hasn’t even been a minute long and Allie’s had enough, tears springing to her eyes again. “Fuck off, Will.”

She hates the way her voice breaks. Both of the boys look down at her in concern. Will’s about to say something, but she doesn’t give him the time. “I’ll see you Monday.”   
  


She grabs Harry’s hand tightly, holding onto it like it’s the only thing keeping her sane (it sort of is) and lets him lead her out of the house, not sparing one glance back at the scene they just caused. Once they’re out, he lets go of her hand, placing it on her back instead as if to shelter her and if she weren’t so fucked up, she’d think about the times when he really did shelter her from everything. 

(They’d cuddle up together on his couch when his parents were out while she cried into him and he’d never say a word, just squeeze her tighter and tighter.)

Once they’ve backed out of Clark’s driveway, her head resting against the window pane (she wonders briefly if he’s now the type of guy who hates that kind of thing; their friendship had been long gone by the time they were allowed to get their licenses), he speaks in soft tones, glancing at her as long as he can before he has to turn back to the road.

“So, Will’s the problem?”

The comment almost makes her laugh. He should know that she’s not the type of girl to hide herself away and cry over some guy who isn’t treating her well.

(She definitely didn’t do that the summer before eighth grade. No. Definitely not.)

“No, he’s just a dick.”

Harry shakes his head. “Well, I knew that.”

He’s silent for the rest of the drive, but she can feel his eyes on her a few times. She wonders if he can still read her as well as he used to be able to. She assumes not.

(He couldn’t read her on labour day weekend either. The one time she needed him to. The one time she needed him to lay out the truth for her so that she wouldn’t fuck them up.)

His hand finds its way to her back again once they arrive. He could be doing it to steady her. Could be.

Once the door’s unlocked, he leads her upstairs, sitting her down on his bed. She’d expected a guest room. Maybe he  _ can _ read her. At least enough to know that she doesn’t want to be alone right now, even if her time will be spent with him.

(They’re both still mad. She knows that. She said some shitty things. He said some shitty things. He abandoned her. She pushed him away. It’s messy, like most things. She still loves him, though. Probably always will. She thinks that might be why he didn’t just leave when he found her in Clark’s guest bedroom, all alone, drunk on her own sadness.)

He shuffles through his drawers and tosses a shirt and sweatpants at her, keeping his back to her as he changes. When he turns around, she’s changed too, crawling over the bed to her side. (She’s always to his right.)

He turns the light off, using the lockscreen of his phone as a flashlight and scoots in beside her wordlessly. They haven’t done this in years, but they used to all the time. Harry’s parents never minded and when it was him staying over at the Pressman’s, their sleeping bags would inch closer during the night and no one would say anything. They both had problems being alone.

There’s a tear in Harry’s blinds, enough that a streak of moonlight streams in, illuminating the side of Allie’s face. She lies on her back, he faces her. He intends on going to sleep immediately, but the minutes pass and he’s nowhere close, so he peeks one eye open. A single tear slides down her cheek as she stares up at the ceiling. She realizes he’s looking and squeezes her eyes shut tightly, taking a deep breath.

“Cassandra’s dying.”

His breath hitches, but his tone remains calm. “Cassandra’s been dying for years.”

“They can’t delay it anymore. Nothing’s working. They can’t help her.”

He lets his eyes slip shut. “Fuck.” When he opens them again, her face is twisted into a grimace, eyes still watery.

Her voice breaks. “I feel like I’m not breathing.”

He can’t stop himself from wiping the tear off her cheek. She shuts her eyes as she does it, breathing in deep. “You’re okay, Al.”

He hasn’t used that nickname in a long time. He also hasn’t pulled her in close, nuzzled his face into her hair and used his thumb to stroke patterns over where their arms rest together. He does that now. She doesn’t push him away.

\--

They sleep for a long time, only woken up by the creak of Harry’s bedroom door, soft giggles escaping a nine year-old’s lips. Harry disentangles himself from Allie, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. “Weren’t you supposed to get dropped off at twelve?”

“It’s one-thirty.” The younger Bingham grins. Allie winces at the light as she finds the strength to open her eyes, head banging, although she thinks it might be more from the crying than the drinking.

“Hey, Rosie.” She sends her as much of a smile as she can muster and the little girl runs across the room, flinging herself into Allie’s arms, who has no choice but to hug her back.

Harry chuckles at the sight, falling back onto the bed, head on his pillow. “Be gentle. Allie doesn’t feel well.”

Rosie pulls back, but remains practically on Allie’s lap. “Is that why you’re here?”

Allie’s sure her cheeks go red. “Something like that.”

Rosie grins, placing a sloppy kiss on Allie’s cheek. “I made waffles.”

“We’ll be down in a minute, Rose.” She seems to get the hint because she leaps off the bed, walking out the door just as Harry yells, “Don’t burn yourself!”

“Not stupid!” She yells back, shutting the door behind her just as Allie falls back on the bed, groaning.

“Headache?”

“Yep.”

“Lightweight.”

She elbows him in the side, leaning over to unlock her phone. “Shut up.”

She has a dozen missed calls and texts from Cassandra, one saying that she told their parents Allie’s staying at Becca’s to cover for her and it makes Allie feel unbelievably guilty. She sighs, putting her phone back down.

Harry looks up at her, expression unreadable. “There’s Tylenol in the bathroom.”

“Thanks.” She whispers softly.

When she arrives downstairs, Harry’s putting the toppings on the waffles and Rosie’s already digging into hers, laughing at something he said. She beams when Allie enters, practically bouncing in her seat. Harry smiles at her antics, it only wavering a little when he glances at Allie. “You still prefer strawberries, right?”

She should be surprised he remembers something so small, but she isn’t. She nods, asking him if he has tea. “Check the coffee cabinet. My mom might have some.”

“I’m sorry you don’t feel good, Allie. I’m glad you’re here though. I don’t like being alone when I’m sick and Harry’s pretty good at taking care of me.” Rosie rambles, shoving more waffles into her mouth.

Harry chuckles just as Allie finds the tea, holding it up triumphantly as he flicks the switch to the kettle, turning it on. She places the tea on the counter and then leans against it, forcing the memories of her sitting on top of that very counter into Harry’s brain. She smiles at Rose, tilting her head to the side. “Thanks for the waffles, Ro.”

“I missed you. I thought you were never coming back.” Harry stiffens at the comment.

“I’m sorry. I missed you, too.” Allie leans over to ruffle her hair. She didn’t just lose Harry back then. God, she’s an asshole.

Rosie pouts. “Harry never told me why you left.”

Harry takes in a sharp breath. “That’s because Allie didn’t leave, I did. She said some mean things to me and I stopped talking to her.”

It’s partly a joke. Allie catches on. “That’s not entirely true.”

He smirks at her, but not in a malicious way. “Close enough, Al.”

The kettle whistles and she pours her tea, settling in beside Rosie to eat her own waffles, just as the youngest Bingham is finishing. Harry takes her plate and places it in the sink. “Go get dressed for ballet.”

“Is Allie coming?”

Allie chuckles, purposefully avoiding Harry’s gaze. “I gotta go home, kid.”

“Will you come back?”

She hesitates for a second. “You haven’t seen the last of me.”

Smart, Harry thinks. Rosie sprints out of the room, leaving them in an awkward silence that’s less than enjoyable for the both of them. Allie partly wishes she were still drunk. She doesn’t bother changing back into her clothes from the previous day before getting the car with Harry, Rosie in the backseat in her tutu. She doubts her parents will both be home anyways; they’re normally out running errands on Saturdays. Rosie gives her a hug through the car window when they drop her off at ballet and the guilt almost swallows Allie whole. She doesn’t look at Harry for the rest of the ride.

When he pulls up in front of her house, she has to remind herself to breathe. He reaches over and grabs her hand, stroking his thumb over the back of it. “You’re okay, Al.”

She nods curtly, letting go and stepping out of his Maserati. She stops just as the passenger door is about to close, leaning down so he can hear her. “Thank you.” She says softly.

He nods once, an understanding look crossing his face.

\--

Nothing changes after that. When they go back to school on Monday, it’s like Friday (and Saturday) never happened. Will even has the decency not to mention it, which she hadn’t counted on, though it’s appreciated. She doesn’t speak to Harry and he doesn’t speak to her. She steals a few glances, but she’d be lying if she said she didn’t do that before. 

In fact, months go by before they speak again.

She’s in lit, the only course she’s good at so she’s a year above in it, Harry a few rows behind her on a Tuesday afternoon when the principal opens the classroom door. He sends Allie one sympathetic glance and it’s enough for her to know something’s happened. Her eyes go dark and she gathers her things quickly, trying to remain as collected as possible. What she doesn’t see is Harry’s eyes following her out.

She’s sitting in the family waiting room in one of those chairs that sucks the life right out of you when a blanket is draped over her shoulders. Harry stands in front of her, frown creasing his features as if it’s stuck there. He sinks down beside her, sighing heavily. “Just for now, let’s pretend these last three years never happened.” If she wasn’t all cried out, she’d start again. Instead, she leans in closer as he wraps his arm around her shoulders, nuzzling into him.

(Later, this will scare the shit out of her. For now, it’s exactly what she needs because it’s warm and familiar and she’s never felt safer than when she’s in his arms because she knows he won’t let the world get to her.)

They stay like that for a long time; Harry rubbing up and down her arm, pressing kisses to her hair like he did when they were just kids and it felt like the right thing to do and they didn’t have to worry about relationships or romance or drama. Back when they were just Harry and Allie. Allie grips his other hand tightly and hides in his embrace, as if tragedy can’t strike her here.

They’re still cuddled up together when Becca, Sam and Will arrive. Harry stays seated as she gets up to hug them and Will’s so somber that he doesn’t even have it in him to glare at Harry, he just hugs Allie tight and doesn’t say a word when she sinks back down into her seat, grabbing Harry’s arm and putting it back around her. Becca holds her other hand. They stay.

Her dad comes to see them a while later, saying that it’ll probably be a while and they should all head home. He pulls Harry into a hug.

Harry leads her out of the hospital slowly and he doesn’t even bother driving her to the Pressman house, he just takes her straight to his. He’d asked one of Rosie’s friend’s parents to take her for the weekend and they’d happily agreed, so the house was eerily quiet compared to the last time they were there together. He lends her more clothes, just like last time and helps her into bed, her movements too zombie-like to do it on her own. He lies down beside her so that they’re facing each other and doesn’t stop himself from brushing a strand of hair out of her face.

“We need to talk about some things.” She whispers, as if just saying it out loud scares her. He knows they do.

(But he wants to stay here and pretend for just a little while longer that she didn’t break his heart and he didn’t break hers and he hasn’t had to pretend for three years that he ever fell out of love with her.)

“We will.” He whispers. “Not tonight.”

He can tell how scared she is. He can see it in the crease of her brow, the watery look in her eyes, the clench of her jaw. She’s terrified that tonight will be it. He’s pretty terrified, too. Who is Allie Pressman without Cassandra? Even worse, who is Harry Bingham if he’s not constantly bickering with her?

He’s not sure if she’ll survive this. If this really is it, he’s smart enough to understand that he’s going to lose her all over again (although, he’s not sure he really has her back). He thinks she knows it, too. She’s staring at him with such vulnerability that he can feel his heart breaking. He can’t save her from this.

Instead, he tugs her closer, wrapping an arm around her middle and tucking his head away in her shoulder.

\--

Cassandra Pressman doesn’t die that day.

Or the next day. Or the next day.

She gets put on new medication that seems to be working. Little by little, Allie’s sanity comes back.

She doesn’t see Harry for about a week after. He doesn’t text her. She thinks he knows that she’ll come to him.

She’s sane enough now to be confused and scared and angry and hurt and all the things that she’s been because of him for years now. She wonders how they can come back from it. It’s a week later when she lets herself in his front door after watching Karen Bingham leave like she does almost every night, after all the lights in the house are long turned off. She’s not sure she wants to know where she goes.

She locks the door behind her and creeps upstairs so as to not accidentally awaken Rosie, slipping through his door to see him lying in bed, staring at his phone screen. He raises his eyebrows, surprised to see her, but she’s clearly not unwelcome so she shuts the door behind her, making her way over to him, mumbling a soft, “Hi.”

He sits up, leaning his back against the wall. “Is Cassandra okay?”

She nods, sitting on the side of his bed, facing him. “We need to talk about this.”

He lets out a dry laugh. “I really don’t want to.”

He grabs her hand though, playing with her fingers to distract himself. She’s sure she’s blushing. “I don’t either… but I missed you.”

A smile creeps onto his face as he looks up at her, a twinkle in his eye. “Thank god.” He mumbles.

She lets out a laugh, staring down at their intertwined fingers. She’s missed holding his hand. It’s the most mundane of things and surely, there should be something else that she missed more, but there isn’t. She once held these hands everyday.

He doesn’t speak for a moment. “You were trying to pick a fight that night, weren’t you?”

She gazes up at him, knowing exactly what he’s referring to. That’s all the answer he needs. “God, Al. If I’d only realized that back then.”

“You could’ve told me to get my head out of my ass and then none of this would’ve happened.” That sparks a laugh out of him, but he doesn’t look up from their hands. “I’m sorry. I was just scared.”

He sighs. “Yeah, I get that now. I was scared, too. I said a lot of shit that night, Allie… I didn’t mean any of it. I just knew you were pushing me away and I couldn’t figure out why.”

“I’m sorry.” Allie mumbles, leaning forward to rest her head on his shoulder. “I should’ve just told you I didn’t want to lose you.”

“Allie…” He pulls away from her. “I don’t want to lose you now, either.”

“Then, you won’t. We’ll be better this time.” She sounds so confident, as if they hadn’t just wasted three years pretending they hated each other.

He reaches a hand up slowly to cup her cheek and she doesn’t pull away from him, leaning in herself. They stop a centimetre away, Harry searching her eyes to make sure he’s not going to ruin anything by kissing her. She kisses him as an answer.

**Author's Note:**

> title from "Liability" by Lorde
> 
> leave a comment if you liked it :)


End file.
